


it feels like there's oceans between you and me

by annoying_kuriboh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoying_kuriboh/pseuds/annoying_kuriboh
Summary: No, it's persistent, it began to hurt and burn and sting, and at some point the coughing he made a habit soon spread petals and dark blood. „Shit...“ He's fine. Or so Seto stubbornly believes, no matter how violent the heat in his throat had become. And perhaps it's not even blood, for those little petals are red, anyway, and who knows-
Relationships: Atem/Kaiba Seto, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi, Kaiba Seto/Yami Yuugi | Atem
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	it feels like there's oceans between you and me

**Author's Note:**

> literally the only experience i have with that kind of AU comes from an erasermight-rp so bear with me here, ahah, its still gonna be great im sure (: i tend to keep my first chapters short as heck to see if there's any resonance first, so the upcoming chapters are gonna be a hell lot longer.

It started with a tickle in his throat. One that bothered him greatly, which couldn't be coughed away no matter how hard he tried, and God knows nobody tries anything harder than Seto Kaiba ever did, up to this point in his life he wouldn't dare say things have gone smoothly, but... they were easier than this. The tickling sensation that makes talking an annoying task, puts a strain on him and erases what's left of the little joy he found in mediocre things meant to pass time until inspiration would strike sometime soon. Of developing Seto did not even think as long as his mind was fully occupied by that stupid whatever-it-was stuck in his throat, and he soon came to terms with the fact that it can't be a blob of food stuck somehow. No, it's persistent, it began to hurt and burn and sting, and at some point the coughing he made a habit soon spread petals and dark blood. 

„Shit...“ He's fine. Or so Seto stubbornly believes, no matter how violent the heat in his throat had become. And perhaps it's not even blood, for those little petals are red, anyway, and who knows--- 

_„Shit.“_ The next cough shakes his body violently, and before Seto was able to cover his mouth he sprinkles blood over his keyboard, curses in his mind, shuts his eyes and wishes for it all to end already--- he must've caught some stressful disease, a virus or whatever it could possibly be, where his blood somehow, magically, looks like the petals of a rose. 

Once the fit was over, Seto's body calmer than before but his mind anxious as ever, he gets to examine the mess he's made, figures that cleaning his hands hat priority over the keyboard. No matter how late it was, one would find him in his office complex rather than the apartment one level above – and no one but Mokuba ever complained – though given the fact there is a bathroom on this level, too, he needn't really go anywhere else. 

He puts on the light with his elbow, refuses to glance down into his hands until he absolutely had to, breathes through a slightly opened mouth so not to smell the copper more than needed. 

The light's blinding him first. Somehow Seto stumbles in front of the sink with closed eyes, clenched fists, blindly searches for the faucet to run the water, scorching hot at first which he blamed on every causality in the universe hating him tonight, but at least he gets to take a good look at the mess. Blood, a lot of the stuff. Petals, some crumbled, others appearing like freshly plucked from a rose, red as the fluids coating his hands. It was a pain to get the blood off from his hands and underneath his nails – the water not as hot as before, at least – and if it hadn't been for the petals clogging the drain he would've been able to make quick business in the bathroom, now Seto was stuck for longer than he would've liked to in order to clean it all up. 

The least he wanted was to see how his face looked, but Seto can feel the warm dribbles on his mouth and chin slowly making their way down, quickly interrupted by a hand wiping the gore away; the water's still running and so are Seto's thoughts, for he cannot remember for the sake of it how, when and where he could've caught... this, whatever it was. For what he may lack in empathy he makes up for it in stubbornness, whether that was a good thing or not, and denial wasn't only a river in Egypt. Seto cleans up, strangely bewildered by that thought, and makes his way back. 

He needn't be reminded of the stains all over his keyboard, yet it somehow struck Seto as an absolute disaster the minute he sat back down on the chair, supposedly ready to get back to work and his legs seemingly refused to get the job done and locked him in that position instead, eyes glued to the dried blood on white buttons. Alcohol wipes are one necessity to him, always were, all he needed to do was reach out, pluck one from the box, wipe it off and be done with it, and his throat felt somewhat better than before now. 

It's going to be fine. 

Allergies? Bronchitis? Part of him thinks he should go outside more, but that part's relatively small and gets shut up rather quickly. For a person well-educated and exceedingly smart it sure took Seto a freaking long time to have his mind process the next steps – one, to finally wipe his keyboard. Second, remember where he'd seen this before, heard of something similar in mainstream-media weeks, no, months prior to the first tickle in his goddamn throat, but as soon as Seto Kaiba realizes, remembers and grasps the situation whole, it's over with being calm and quiet. „ **SHIT**.“ 

-

„Pretty messed up, huh?“ 

Yugi's voice ain't quite able to get through to Atem, much too focused on the match on the TV-screen, but eventually--- „Huh? What is?“ The second Atem does tear his eyes off the screen is the moment he loses the objective and waits for a respawn. „This... _hana-ha-ki_ disease, thing? Are you even listening! _Pharaoh!_ “ No matter how long it's been, no matter the ring his name had coming from Yugi, the boy couldn't put off the habit of calling Atem anything else but Pharaoh, and well, honestly, it doesn't bother him much. He won't forget, no matter what. 

„You'll find that I'm in fact a good listener--- unless I'm playing video-games.“ Respawn! Time for a rematch. Yugi scoffs and Atem can see him sneaking up in an attempt to snatch the controller rom his hands – too late! „Hana-what now?“ Atem was curious, sure. Maybe. A little bit. 

„Hanahaki! It's some kind of disease that picked up recently again, and like... it makes flowers grow in your lungs when you have feelings for someone who doesn't reciprocate them, or when you simply haven't told them about your feelings!“ - „That's... pretty messed up.“ - „Exactly what I said!“ 

To be honest, all Atem heard was something along the lines of 'flowers' and 'disease' and he wonders how that adds up and makes a whole, but as intense as the match has gotten during Yugi's explanation he didn't really have the attention to care nor did that topic hold any relevance to him. For all he knows Yugi could've been talking about the next plotline to another video-game he will be interested in for a few days before it's put into the shelves never to be played again. 

_Pretty messed up, huh?_


End file.
